


The Sun Also Rises

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [16]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 4th age Aman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: The children of Elrond are all in Aman now. A good many people are in for surprises.
Series: Daughters of Celebrían [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/357041
Comments: 45
Kudos: 62





	1. Surfacing

When Anariel opened her eyes, everything was far too bright. She squinched them shut again against the rude sunlight, and covered them with her hands for good measure.  
  
“I could have sworn you announced you intended to sleep for a week,” her brother’s amused voice told her.  
  
The brightness dimmed somewhat.  
  
She cautiously opened an eye, and peeked out from under her hand to find Elrohir arranging a section of sail to give her some shade.  
  
Everything was still ridiculously bright, but taking it slowly this time helped.  
“How long have I been out?” she asked.  
  
“Since Cerin Amroth, or since you told Morgoth to get lost?”  
  
She gave him a look. He knew perfectly well what she meant. And she wasn’t ready to think about the first one just yet.  
  
“Only three days,” he replied. “We honestly expected you to sleep all the way to Alqualondë. And not just because that’s what you said you’d do.”  
  
“We’re still on the boat?” she asked excitedly, bolting upright.  
  
Ok, so maybe that hadn’t been the best idea. A lot of things still hurt. She just hadn’t noticed as long as she was staying mostly still.  
  
From the feel of it, the Slayer needed rest to recover just as much as she did. She could only hope the bones would at least heal a little faster than normal for elves. There had to be some benefit to her choice besides beating Morgoth, right?  
  
As long as she was sitting up, she might as well take a look around.  
  
Yes, definitely still on a boat – there was water all around. Maybe that explained why it had featured so prominently in her dreams. She couldn’t quite remember all of it, she didn’t think it had made a lot of sense. Very Little Mermaid with all the underwater parts.  
  
“No, we’re not on a ship,” Elrohir said drily, with just the slightest emphasis on ‘ship’ even though there were no Lindar around to get squiffy about her terminology. “This is all just a very clever painting we did while you were napping so you wouldn’t feel like you missed out on the experience.”  
  
“Sarcasm. I like it,” she grinned.  
  
Before she could say anything more, her stomach gave a mortifyingly loud protest to make sure she was aware just how empty it was.  
  
Her brother raised an eyebrow.  
  
“I suppose there’s no need for me to ask why you’re awake after that,” he smirked.  
  
Anariel looked around, but there was nothing in arm’s reach for her to throw that she wouldn’t miss. (Her pillow, for example, was not for throwing. It might get wet. And she fully planned on going back to sleep just as soon as her stomach was satisfied.)  
  
Elladan joined them, tray in hand.  
  
“Is this foresight, or was the tummy rumbling that audible?” she sighed.  
  
“No foresight. I was only _told_ it was loud,” Elladan laughed, setting down what proved to be…whatever meal this was. It seemed a bit late in the day to call it breakfast.  
  
Lembas she didn’t mind, but fish and dried fruit wouldn’t have been her first choice. But depending on how long they’d been on the boat, she supposed options might be limited by now. A sniff at the tea told her it was strongly fortified with honey and possibly a splash of miruvor – a good way to stuff extra energy into someone who would do another sleep marathon as soon as she was done eating.  
  
“Cheer up, little sister. Another few days and you’ll probably have all that Aman has to offer being pressed on you by worried relatives,” Elrohir suggested.  
  
“They _know_?” she demanded in horror.  
  
She hadn’t intended on telling more than a handful of people beyond her brothers.  
“We're told Tinu knew,” Elladan explained. “Grandmother Melian said something about the Key – and she must have told the others. Or maybe Eärendil did.”  
  
“Hard to say how, he’s been in the sky the entire time, day and night,” Elrohir said thoughtfully. “Maybe that was enough by itself to worry everyone. After all, it’s not ever _us_ almost getting killed.”  
  
Anariel stuck out her tongue.  
  
“I’m not that bad,” she grumped. “I can’t believe you’re picking on me when I only just woke up.”  
  
“He is terrible,” Elladan agreed cheerfully, hugging her. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”  
  
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Elrohir protested indignantly.


	2. Daybreak

The next time she woke, there were stars overhead – her grandfather among them, and was it just her, or was his star getting closer?  
  
There was also the faintest glow on the eastern horizon that told her dawn couldn’t be far away.  
  
“We meant to let you sleep until the harbor,” Elladan’s said softly. “No, sit up _slowly_ this time. And don’t be loud – Grandfather is sleeping, and we think he should rest until daybreak. It threatens to be a long day.”  
  
“Why?” she asked, letting him assist her even though she was pretty sure it wasn’t necessary.   
  
There were lights in the distance in both the north and the west – lights that didn’t look like stars.   
  
“Tol Eressëa,” Elladan explained. “We should reach Alqaulondë today.”  
  
“Ada and Nana?” she demanded.  
  
“Will doubtless be waiting for us.”  
  
“Where’s El?” she asked after another look around.   
  
Her grandfather was sleeping in a hammock on deck, much as she had been. A sailor she didn’t recognize had the wheel, which suggested Cirdan was also seizing the chance to get forty winks before he was needed for docking.  
  
“He was persuaded that it only required one of us to keep watch over you. And I slept last night.”  
  
“You could have both slept,” she replied in dismay.   
  
They didn’t need to wear themselves out on her behalf when all she had done lately was sleep.   
  
“You would rather have woken up to Grandmother Melian?” Elladan asked with a quiet laugh.  
  
Her multi-great grandmother had popped in while she was finishing up her meal the last time she was awake. It had been an interesting introduction. She wondered if some of her weirder dreams hadn’t been Melian-related. She was certain at least some of what she had been seeing was Doriath, or its borders, at least.  
  
“You guys could have just let me sleep and trusted whoever’s on deck to let you know if I woke up,” she protested. “And anyway, what do you think I’m going to do, jump over the side?”  
  
“With you, one can never be sure,” Elladan said firmly. “Anyway, if you will sit quietly, I will go see what I can find in the way of food.”  
  
“And clothes,” she suggested, taking a better look at herself rather than her surroundings for the first time.   
  
Her clothes had looked worse after her road trip through Mordor, and probably after the Battle of the Morannon. But aside from that, this is probably a new low. She realized to her disgust that she was still wearing the outfit she’d had on back at Cerin Amroth.   
  
Her face fell as she thought of the last thing she could remember there.  
  
 _Do not think on that just yet, little sister_ , Elladan advised.   
  
“You’re on the road to recovery if you’re well enough to fuss about anyone else seeing these,” he continued aloud, distracting her before her thoughts could become too grim. “I’ll return swiftly. _Please_ stay in the hammock until I do.”   
  
The last was in a pleading tone that said he thought it unlikely she wouldn’t argue.  
  
“Ok,” she shrugged. “I’m in no hurry. Doesn’t look like there’s a lot to see yet anyway.”  
  
Her brother nodded and disappeared below deck.   
  
She looked around again. The lights in the west were getting closer – which she supposed made sense if they were Alqualondë. Her grandfather’s star was definitely larger. Maybe she’d get to see him today, in a face to face way. That was an encouraging thought.  
  
She felt an inquiring pressure against her mind, and recognized it as Tindomiel. But she didn’t want to overshare with her little sister, so she closed her mind. Tinu would just have to wait a few more hours. (Thanks to Radio Free Melian, she already knew they were all in Aman proper and safe.)  
  
Elladan was as good as his word – it couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes before he was back, carrying both fresh clothing and what food he could find. All the same, the sky was rapidly lightening.  
  
“I want to change first,” she announced, thankful he’d brought just a plain tunic and leggings.   
  
She’d have liked to claim she was just fine, but she was still pretty exhausted and more than a little sore, despite all the sleep. Slayer healing still hadn’t really kicked in yet. If she were honest, she was probably in danger of spilling something and making a mess of herself.   
  
Elladan’s lips quirked – he had no doubt followed her thoughts. But he said nothing as he helped her shrug out of her gross old stuff and put on the clean things he’d brought up for her.  
  
She was happy to sit back down by the time she was properly dressed. Her legs still wanted another few days asleep. But they’re going to have to deal, because she’s going to at least make it down the gangplank when they dock.  
  
“I know you were not pleased with fish before, so I stuck with lembas, jam, and dried fruit,” Elladan said as he handed it over.   
  
“I will _never_ complain about raspberry jam,” Anariel assured him after the first blissful bite. If she had to guess, he’d dumped all that was left of the jam jar onto the lembas for her.   
  
“Anyway, I bet the Amayar relatives try to stuff us silly once we land.”  
  
“Very likely,” he laughed. “Look, you can see the island properly now.”  
  
It was true. The Lonely Isle was intensely green. She could make out gardens in the pre-dawn mist, and here and there a light sparkled at the end of a dock or on a moored ship. A lighthouse shone out in one spot, possibly marking the end of the island, for the lights she could see beyond it looked much further away.   
  
“Good morning, sunshine.”  
  
Elrohir’s voice betrayed that he wasn’t quite fully awake yet.   
  
Anariel looked at Elladan.  
  
“You tell him,” she said firmly, before applying herself to the mixed dried fruit.  
  
“Apparently we both should have slept,” Elladan shrugged.  
  
“Right. Because you wouldn’t have woken up, tried to go running around, and ended up re-injuring yourself,” Elrohir snorted.  
  
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Anariel replied airily. “Anyway, when do we change into ‘woohoo, we’re getting off the boat’ clothes?”  
  
“Probably around the time the pilot comes on board,” Elrohir shrugged. “Which won’t be for another hour or two.”  
  
Anariel blinked. To her mind (parts of which were still highly influenced by southern California), a pilot flew a plane. She could halfway see calling Eärendil a pilot on account of the whole ‘flying ship’ thing, but not anyone steering a regular boat.  
  
“And yet, that is what they are called,” Elladan told her mildly. “It will be interesting to see them. Whoever is sent might well be kin.”  
  
“Mmm.”  
  
Despite her earlier remark, Anariel wasn’t actually all that enthused about tons of new people at the moment.   
  
She was already aware she would have to fight the ‘not a child’ battle afresh times about two hundred, given that she hadn’t grown so much as an inch since arriving in Arda and the Amanyar were mostly taller than elves born on the Hither Shores. By their lights, she looked like a teenager who hadn’t really grown yet. Add on top of that the part where she was a little bit brittle at the moment and still having to move carefully…  
  
“It won’t be so bad,” Elrohir assured her, though she got the feeling he was saying it as much for his own peace of mind.   
  
“So you’re the appointed optimist today?” she snorted.   
  
“At least we will see our parents, Tinu, and Grandmother again,” he replied.   
  
She leaned against him, doing her best to soothe his nerves.   
  
“You’re right. It will be a good day. Look, here comes the sun.”


	3. It's The Last Few Miles That Get You

Anariel and her brothers stayed right where they were for the next hour or so. The hammock was comfortable, they weren’t hungry, and the day was warm and fair. (Basically, it was the best morning they’ve had since Minas Tirith. At least, as far as Anariel was concerned it was, and she suspected her brothers probably agreed.)  
  
The twins reluctantly stood up when Celeborn reminded his grandchildren that if they wished to change before anyone on shore could see them, now was the time.   
  
She was all set to do the same until he pinned her with a stern ‘not you, Anariel’ and told her brothers to bring her clothes.  
  
That was a little annoying. She wasn’t _that_ fragile.  
  
“You, little one, are going to sit still while I do something about your hair,” Celeborn told her pleasantly. “You can change into whatever the boys decide is appropriate after.”  
  
“The boys had better decide whatever Arwen picked out is appropriate if they know what’s good for them,” she muttered.   
  
“I’m sure they will. And you’re old enough that I shouldn’t need to tell you this will go much faster if you sit still.”  
  
She stuck her tongue out at thin air. Celeborn would still know about it, even if he was behind her.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asked.   
  
She could tell that whatever it was, it wasn’t anything she’d worn before.  
  
“Giving you the braid you properly deserve for today,” her grandfather replied.   
  
Whatever that meant…  
  
“Luthien wore her hair in this style braid after she returned from Angband with Beren,” he elaborated. “Any Lindar who see it – well, any Lindar of Beleriand at least – will recognize it and know you stood against Morgoth and were not defeated.”  
  
Anariel smirked.  
  
She liked the concept. Though she’d like it better if…  
  
“I wasn’t just not defeated, I _won_.”   
  
And her voice was firm when she said it that time. Take that, First Evil!  
  
“True. But that would be two braids. As I’m not Thingol, you get one braid. He’ll snatch me baldheaded if he doesn’t get to do the other himself.”  
  
Anariel tried not to giggle at the idea of her grandfather bald (and the immense fuss he’d kick up about it.)  
  
The twins returned, both dressed like they were set to play the young lords of Imladris, and offered her the parcel Arwen had wrapped herself all those months ago.   
  
None of them had any idea what she’d put in it. (Or the one she’d said was for Tirion, which Anariel wasn’t allowed to open until she was there.)  
  
It was a bit bittersweet when Anariel opened the plain cloth to find Haradrin silk inside. She wasn’t sure if the color was that way naturally, or if it had been the work of a clever dyer to make it look like a tropical sea – not much different than the one around them. Arwen usually used stars in her embroidery, but this time she had gone for suns and little starfish.  
  
“Very appropriate for Alqualondë,” Celeborn said.  
  
His voice might have sounded brusque, but Anariel suspected it was only because he was feeling Arwen’s absence much as she and her brothers were.  
  
Celeborn finished braiding, and her brothers hovered around her – ostensibly ‘helping’ but really acting like they expected her to fall over any second – while she changed.   
  
“Do we have to stay sitting here?” Anariel demanded once she was dressed. “Can we go sit up front instead?”  
  
Celeborn’s lips quirked.  
  
“Yes,” he replied. “But only sitting. No jumping around, please.”  
  
“Pfft. Who’s jumping?” Anariel waved that off. “I just want to sit where I can see.”  
  
Elrohir swung her up onto his shoulders before she could take a step.  
  
“Sorry, we’re still considering you breakable today,” he announced.   
  
“You can carry me around all you want,” she shrugged. “Just as long as I get to walk off the ship on my own two feet.”  
  
That got an instant protest from both brothers and her grandfather.

“I can say no just as loud and emphatic as you guys can, you know,” she pointed out, cutting through all their logic and concern and reasons why she should let everyone think she’s way worse off than she actually was.   
  
“So here’s my no – no, I am not being carried off. I’m walking. Because I can. I didn’t get to walk on, which was totally unfair. And I get that was Morgoth’s fault, but he’s not here and even if he was, I would go _through_ him if I had to as long as I got to get off the ship on my own!”  
  
The twins stopped arguing at that.  
  
Celeborn didn’t.  
  
“Anariel, you may feel you are up to walking, but you are only just recovering, and still need to rest – and you know it as well as the rest of us.”  
  
“I’ll rest the whole rest of the day just as long as I get to take this one little walk.”  
  
“She can manage that much without any risk,” Elrohir spoke up.  
  
“Yes, especially if we two walk _near_ her,” Elladan put in. “If it looks like she will lose her footing or fall, we will be close enough that we can catch her.”  
  
Anariel recognized a compromise when her brothers tossed her one, so she didn’t protest it.  
  
Celeborn threw his hands up in frustration.  
  
“As you will.”  
  
Anariel wasn’t sure if the touch against her mind she recognized as her grandmother looking for her was because of the argument or just coincidence, but either way, she wasn’t taking any chances.  
  
 _Later!_ she said firmly, and closed her mind. She’d gotten pretty good at that on this trip.  
  
Celeborn kept an eye on their progress to the foredeck, but did not join them – possibly because he’d recognized that a grandmother they couldn’t avoid was already waiting for them there.  
  
Melian had visited the ship several times, to the point where none of the elves on board were in the least bothered by her comings and goings, least of all her several-times great-grandchildren.   
  
“Good, you are all awake,” she said, sounding relieved.   
  
She looked them over, and smiled at the sight of the braid before patting Anariel’s head affectionately.  
  
“That was well done on Celeborn’s part,” she smiled. “The Noldor will have no idea, of course, but the Lindar will be pleased to see it.”  
  
Oh, goody. She’d forgotten all about that – Noldor vs Sindar would be a lot more interesting here where the numbers were more even.  
  
 _You could always go hide out with the Vanyar_ , her brothers suggested in unison.  
  
 _I’m going to remind you two you said that in a couple hours_ , she threatened.  
  
“Look, there’s a boat coming alongside,” Elrohir grinned.   
  
“Pilot?” Elladan suggested.  
  
“Has to be.”  
  
Anariel tried not to pout as Elrohir went charging off to investigate.  
  
 _Give it another few weeks and then you can wander about as you like_ , Elladan soothed her. _Annoying, I know, but you’re still healing faster than a normal elf, even if the Slayer is as exhausted as you say. Anyway, I don’t think you’re missing anything there._  
  
“Anariel, now that the ship will shortly reach Alqualondë, we should discuss getting you to Lorien,” Grandmother Melian announced.  
  
“Sure,” Anariel shrugged. That could actually be an excellent excuse to duck out if (probably more like when) the Noldor-Sindar feuding got awkward. “After I spend some time with Ada and Nana. And Tinu.”  
  
“You still need much rest and healing,” Melian pointed out.  
  
“Yep. And I will totally rest and heal and whatnot after I see my parents.”  
  
“Our father is a healer,” Elrohir sniffed. “I think he can be trusted to make sure his own daughter is treated appropriately.”  
  
“I agree,” Elladan said flatly, rejoining them.  
  
A closer look at the pilot didn’t seem to have improved his mood.   
  
“It would be much easier to take you directly from the ship to Lorien,” Melian protested.  
  
“Why?” Anariel asked. “The few yards from ship to shore can’t make that much difference.”  
  
“I meant to take you as I would travel,” Melian explained.  
  
“You still can if you want. Just not right away,” Anariel replied with a frown. “Why are we still talking about this? I haven’t seen my parents and little sister in over a hundred years. I’m pretty sure a few hours with them before flitting off to Lorien isn’t going to kill me.”  
  
They ended up going a few more rounds before Melian finally gave in and accepted she was going to have to wait her turn – and then they had to rehash the ‘walking off the ship’ discussion, because Melian was also against.   
  
By the time she left, all three children of Elrond were slightly cranky.   
  
_I hope not all our elder kin are going to be like this_ , Elrohir grumped.  
  
 _I don’t care if they are_ , Anariel shrugged. _I am going to sit on that railing and watch Grandfather land his ship._  
  
She giggled as she suddenly realized. How had she never caught it before now?  
  
“His starship!”  
  
Her brothers looked at her like she was slightly nuts, but it wasn’t her fault they didn’t get every California pop culture reference. (After all this time, all they did was sigh when they realized it was something from California.)  
  
They did, however, carry her to the railing she pointed at and sit to either side of her so that none of them would be scolded by anyone else on the boat. And together, they watched as Vingilótë dropped lower and lower in the sky, gradually resolving into an actual ship rather than a light in the sky.  
  
They could see elves on the other ship – elves who were grinning and waving at them. And one who looked a lot like a taller (also male) version of Anariel was absolutely beaming at them.


	4. Journey's End

Eärwen took a deep breath to steady her nerves.   
  
They were nearly there.   
  
She had won the toss to be the one who would pilot her great-grandchildren’s ship in. (Her brothers would hotly deny to anyone that they were sulking about it…)  
  
It was just as well.   
  
She was the better sailor, thanks to her extra years of experience. (Admittedly she’d also been practicing in the waters off Alqualondë and in the harbor itself for a the last few decades just to be prepared. And also so her brothers wouldn’t have a leg to stand on when they tried to claim she didn’t know the harbor as it was now as well as they did.)  
  
Aunt Melian had said that the swifter Anariel was brought to Lorien, the better. So this ship needed to be brought in as quickly as possible.  
  
Much of her extended family were braced for the worst.  
  
The young elf manning the pinnace carrying her jerked his head east-nor’east.   
  
Yes, there it was.   
  
She smiled as she caught sight of the name on the bow.  
  
Cirdan had named the ship that finally bore him West for his sister. Her mother would be so pleased.  
  
She grabbed the signal pennant from the bench next to her and slung the pack with the freshly baked morning bread on her back, then stood at the ready as the pinnace closed the distance, drawing alongside the larger ship without requiring it to slow or alter its course.   
  
One of Cirdan’s people tossed a line down, and the next moment the pinnace was falling away as she swung up and over the rail.  
  
“Greetings, kinsman!” she hailed the sailor who offered her a hand to steady her. "It is time and past we returned the favor."  
  
“Well met, kinswoman,” he replied. "We long trusted you would."  
  
“This must fly from the masthead,” she ordered, holding out the vivid orange banner that warned all other ships approaching or already in the harbor the incoming vessel had priority. “Above all other banners.”  
  
“It can go below my sister’s banner,” a cool voice interrupted. “ _Nothing_ flies above her standard today.”  
  
She turned slightly to take in the speaker. She didn’t know which of Celebrían’s boys she was looking at, but the resemblance to her nephew took her breath away – it was as if someone had meshed Turukano with the portraits she’d seen of her cousin Lúthien.   
  
“Very well,” she told him evenly. “I haven’t time to argue with you on the subject if you wish your sister ashore promptly.”  
  
He took the pennant from her with a curt nod and turned to the mainmast.  
  
She strode to the wheel, nodding to Cirdan when she reached him.  
  
“Uncle,” she said with a smile.  
  
He embraced her warmly, and gratefully accepted the still-warm roll she offered him.  
  
“It is good to see you again, little one. It has been some years.”  
  
That was one way to put it. ‘Two Ages’ would have been slightly more accurate.  
  
“Should I tell them?” Cirdan asked, with a twinkle in his eyes as he gestured toward the one twin running the priority signal up, and the other minding his little sister on the foredeck.  
  
She shook her head as she took the wheel, adjusting their heading ever so slightly. They just might set a new speed record getting in.   
  
“No, there will be time enough for that later.”  
  
She glanced upward to find the pennant streaming below Anariel’s banner. At least her great-grandson was efficient.   
  
“You might give them some of the bread, though. Mother baked it fresh this morning. I should think after so long at sea, they’ll appreciate it.”  
  
She shrugged out of the pack, leaving it to her uncle.  
  
“Yes, I suspect they will,” Cirdan agreed with a smile. “I certainly do.”  
  
Up ahead, she could see other ships altering course to give them a clear path into the roads.  
  
She kept one eye on the waters in front of them, the other on her grandchildren, who appeared to be having a heated discussion with Aunt Melian.   
  
She could hear it quite clearly, and tried not to laugh – all the more so when her law-son joined them with a sigh.  
  
They hadn’t met during the War, so she was unsurprised that there was no recognition in his face as he spoke.  
  
“I wonder how many of their grandparents they intend to butt heads with today,” he sighed.  
  
Eärwen narrowly missed laughing out loud, as from the sound of it, one or more of the children had been at odds with Celeborn before she came aboard.  
  
“What can they have found to argue about?” she asked.  
  
Celeborn gave her a look that didn’t quite rebuke her for insolence – not that it would have worked – but did answer.  
  
“Anariel is determined that she will _walk_ off the ship when it docks,” he explained. “Her brothers, of course, support her despite knowing perfectly well that it is a foolish idea.”  
  
“I take it you’ve already had words with them on the subject?” Eärwen said.  
  
Celeborn nodded.  
  
“Yes. But unlike my aunt, I remember their father making similarly foolish decisions in his youth, and thus know it’s easier to let her suffer the consequences of her pride than to debate with her about it. She can find out for herself what healing looks like when it isn’t assisted by what she calls ‘the Slayer’.”  
  
 _That_ certainly implied there was a story or two no one has told them yet, at least not in Tirion. She wondered if she should be asking her daughter, or if Ingo or Moryo’s boys would be more likely to ‘spill the beans’ as Tinwë would put it.  
  
“Well, she won’t have long to wait to take her walk,” Eärwen said. “We’ll be entering the harbor proper in a few minutes, and from there, it should be clear sailing.”  
  
If it wasn’t, whatever master disregarded the pennant would answer to her father. And her mother.  
  
“Foolish or not, she’ll be standing on the quay within the hour,” Eärwen concluded.  
  
“Here,” Cirdan said, holding out a roll to Celeborn. “Our pilot brought more than just her expertise with her.”

“I thank you, lady,” Celeborn replied with a respectful bow. She picked up from the thought directed at her that he meant both her piloting and the thoughtful gesture of fresh bread. “As, I hope, will my grandchildren when they are in a less obstinate mood.”  
  
“Oh, they will,” Cirdan laughed. “I’m sure our good pilot isn’t going to hold their current state against them. I suspect she’s seen a good many elves suffering last-minute nerves about their arrival.”  
  
Eärwen gave him the mildest of looks, warning him not to give the game away. Her law-son couldn’t very well complain, not when he and Nerwen had avoided Balar for so long despite knowing perfectly well she and Ara were there.  
  
Besides, it took no great wisdom to see that this was not the moment to introduce herself to Nerwen’s grandchildren. They were tired, heartsick, and in Anariel’s case, still fragile in both fëa and hröa from their ordeal. She could see for herself that they were here and safe, and that was sufficient for today.   
  
There was all the time in Arda for introductions when they were all feeling more their usual selves.   
  
Cirdan ambled forward, to share the bounty with the children. Perhaps that would improve their mood.  
  
She held the ship at speed, as fast as she dared as they made their way into the roads and toward the lesser used dock reserved for emergencies. Elrond, she knew, would be brought there. Celebrían would be there as well, she hoped. Her parents might have had to resort to subterfuge to keep it to just Anariel’s parents, but Eärwen trusted they would have thought of something.  
  
They were nearly at their destination when Nerwen’s frustration rippled across her mind.   
  
_Not now, my daughter_ , she said firmly. _I need to concentrate, lest I ram the dock and throw your little Anariel into the water. I don’t think she would appreciate it._  
  
The three youngest elves had settled themselves on the railing, and appeared to be waving at Eärendil, whose Vingilótë was nearly down to water level – but taking care to keep far enough aport to make it clear their course would not intersect. She suspected he meant to put in at one of the southernmost docks, the better to make his way home for a private meeting with his grandchildren.   
  
Aunt Melian had made herself scarce – whether in a tactful retreat, or out of pique at a rare lost argument, Eärwen didn’t know.   
  
She called orders to Cirdan’s crew as they approached the inner harbor, needing to shed speed that they might safely dock.  
  
Nerwen was not entirely surprised that they weren’t putting in at the usual berths for arriving ships, but she wasn’t pleased – nor, she let her mother know, would the rest of the gathered relatives be.   
  
Eärwen ignored that.   
  
Her parents had known perfectly well since the prior afternoon what the plan was, and if the Tirion crowd hadn’t had the sense to remain at her parents’ house, they would have to bear their disappointment as best they could. These children were not equal to such a scene as Nerwen’s ship had met with on arrival.   
  
Sensibly, young Tindomiel hadn’t even bothered coming to Olwë’s house with the rest, retreating instead to Elwing’s. She had shown no inclination to join the relatives awaiting the ship quayside.  
  
As the ship slowed, Eärwen angled it toward its berth, timing it so that they were all but at a stop as the ship reached the quay, letting the dockworkers and sailors settle it the last few yards with the mooring lines.  
  
“Nicely done, niece,” Cirdan murmured.  
  
Celebrían’s children had arrived.


	5. All Is Well

It felt like the last few minutes of the trip took several Ages all by themselves.   
  
The waiting had been bearable (well, mostly) while she could watch Vingilótë and wave to her grandfather and his crew. But they had dropped back and to whatever ‘left’ was in nautical language, and now that they were in the water instead of the air, they were heading off to another dock.   
  
That left Anariel and her brothers scanning the unfamiliar harbor before them trying to find anything (or anyone) they recognized.   
  
It didn’t take long.  
  
“Look!” Anariel exclaimed. “There’s Ada and Nana!”  
  
It took everything she had to wait for the ship to actually settle into its berth – she wanted to see them right now. Especially her father...   
  
Just in case.  
  
She was pretty sure he was fine. He had to be.   
  
Morgoth couldn’t reach anyone in Aman itself. He’d been unable to stand against her aligning with Manwë, Ulmo, and a handful of their maiar. The full strength of all the ainur of Aman was beyond him.   
  
That’s what she’s been telling herself, anyway. It’s logical, reasonable, and utterly failing to eliminate the maggots of panic that have been silently chewing on her brain since whenever it was Morgoth had learned not to push her too far.  
  
Because that logic didn’t explain how Morgoth had been able to wear her father’s form. Everyone – _everyone_ – else the First Evil had taken the appearance of had died, even her. That technical, just for a few minutes, didn’t really count because Xander knew CPR and fixed it death was enough.  
  
Maybe Ada had a similar near miss in the First Age? He’d fought in the War of Wrath, after all. Or the Second Age – there had been some real touch and go moments in both rounds of the war against Sauron.   
  
So it was not quite torture to have to sit still and wait for the ship to hurry up and dock, but it was difficult. In this case, seeing was only part of believing.  
  
When she was satisfied the _Súyelírë_ had at long last come to a stop, she made to stand up. She could handle one little jump.  
  
“No, nethig!”  
  
Elrohir and Elladan spoke in unison.   
  
“It’s not that far,” she protested, eyeing the distance from the rail to the walkway below somewhat scornfully. It’s barely even a jump, more a big step.  
  
“You were barely able for the walk from your hammock to the foredeck,” Elrohir pointed out. “It is to be hoped you keep your feet all the way down to the dock.”  
  
“I definitely will,” she said, letting just a hint of steel creep into her tone.   
  
Morgoth shouldn’t have any spies here, but just in case there were any, he can suck it, because she’s going to walk off this ship.  
  
“If you wish to walk, you will walk,” Elladan said. “But you will do so when the crew have the gangway in place for you to walk on. No rope bridges, no jumping.”  
  
She frowned, but decided there was just enough sense in what her brothers were saying to save her energy for the actual walking.   
  
“Can they not do this any faster?” she asked in an undertone what felt like an hour later.  
  
“It has been a mere five minutes,” Elladan laughed.   
  
“Don’t be mean,” Elrohir advised. “It looks as if Ada is not much more patient. Or Nana.”  
  
Anariel wouldn’t have minded terribly if her parents came onto the ship to meet them, but it would be more satisfying to disembark under her own power…  
  
“There, young ones,” called one of the dockworkers, his accent slightly off from what they were used to but still perfectly intelligible. “You can get off now.”  
  
Anariel gave her brothers a triumphant look and walked deliberately and firmly to the gangway and down to the dock, which she found slightly less stable than she’d expected.  
  
 _You’re the unstable one_ , Elrohir pointed out, his mental voice wreathed in laughter.  
  
 _Now who’s mean?_ Elladan asked rhetorically. _Your legs aren’t any more used to land than hers are. Anariel, whatever you do, don’t trip or overbalance, or we may all end up in an ignominious heap on the floor._  
  
“It’s not a floor, it’s a dock,” Anariel replied primly as she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other to get to her father.  
  
Fortunately, Ada was moving toward them slightly faster than she could manage.  
  
He folded her into an embrace that was reassuringly real and solid.  
  
“Ada, we missed you!”  
  
“And I missed you, my sunshine,” he replied, his voice sounding a little thick.   
  
She could feel not just his arms holding her, but his fëa as well, and that relieved the last persistent sliver of doubt. It felt like the first time in forever she could exhale. It was properly over. Everyone was safe.  
  
The last thing she heard as she relaxed right into unconsciousness was Elrohir.  
  
“Ada, catch her!”  
  
She’d tell her silly brother he already had her whenever she woke up.


	6. Safely Rest

Elrond tried not to let his annoyance show when the messenger reached him.  
  
Today of all days he was needed for an emergency on an incoming ship? When his children were expected to arrive at any time?  
  
But he was a healer, not to mention an grown elf old enough to keep his feelings to himself, so he followed the messenger without complaint.  
  
Celebrían was torn between accompanying him and remaining with her mother and the others awaiting the ship.   
  
“The princess Celebrían is of course most welcome,” the messenger assured them.  
  
That was enough to decide her.  
  
 _I don’t know what, but my grandparents are up to something_ , she told him as quietly as she could. _And whatever it is, they’re trying to keep Mother out of it!_  
  
That gave him the first inkling of what was going on. The sight of the ship confirmed it.  
  
The orange pennant that signaled _priority – emergency aboard_ normally flew above any other flag or banner on an incoming ship.  
  
This one streamed below his daughter’s standard, and he could well imagine how that had come to pass.   
  
He hoped the boys hadn’t been too rude about it, considering it was their great-grandmother bringing the ship in. (He’s certain it would be the boys. Anariel didn’t as a rule care about such things. She hadn’t even bothered with a device until she realized it might be useful for intimidating Sauron.)  
  
Celebrían’s breath caught when she saw it, and the fear that had haunted her since that last evening in Tirion returned with fresh intensity.  
  
 _Be at ease, dearest_ , he pleaded, feeling her hand in his beginning to shake. _Melian did say that she’s recovering. The banner is surely only to get them to the dock without delay._  
  
At least, that’s what he told himself. Believing it was another matter.  
  
As the ship drew closer, they could make out all three children lounging on one of the forward railings, more concerned with what his father’s ship was doing than their own. Anariel didn’t look injured, and like her brothers, was wearing an outfit he didn’t recognize.  
  
“That has to be something Arwen made for her,” Celebrían murmured.   
  
Elrond smiled. Trust his daughter to concern herself with fashion when all her kin were frantic about her health. But he had to admit it did suit her – and the occasion. The blues and green blended together into a way reminiscent of the warm seas near Alqualondë.  
  
His eldest daughter always did have an eye for what would look good on her little sisters.   
  
And perhaps it helped the other three children to feel she was with them today of all days.  
  
The braid in Anariel’s hair, however, was not Arwen. That, he suspected, would be Celeborn, proclaiming to the Lindarin world that their littlest princess was every bit as formidable as her famous foremother.   
  
_My father hasn’t a lick of sense in his head_ , Celebrían said tartly. _Thingol was going to be ridiculous enough without giving her_ that _braid._  
  
“If it’s deserved, she should wear it,” Elrond pointed out quietly. “And Thingol is not here.”  
  
 _Fortunately_ , he added – but very quietly. He suspected Melian might be about.  
  
The braid was one only a few could wear with any honesty – all of them in his family tree. Luthien. Maeglin, though he rarely wore it. And now Anariel. Very few elves could say they had stood face to face with the great Enemy and not given in.   
  
Of course, it was also a subtle way to claim Anariel as one of the Lindar. He had to wonder if the idea had been Celeborn’s or Thranduil’s.  
  
His sons and his middle daughter have always been thoroughly uninterested in what they called ‘choosing sides’.   
  
Happily, there would be time enough for that nonsense later. Thanks to what could only be the connivance of the royal family of Alqualondë, it was only he and Celebrían and a handful of dockworkers present to greet the children.  
  
The ship was coming in as swiftly as Eärwen could contrive, moving briskly enough that even though the kin waiting on the more central Royal Quay must have worked out the change, they wouldn’t have time to swarm over.  
  
 _Mother’s certainly figured it out_ , Celebrían sighed. _She’s irritated with Adar, me, and my grandparents in equal measure – and more than irritated that she can’t be here in time to greet Father without dragging the entire lot with her._  
  
Elrond was probably more amused at that than he should have been, but somewhere deep inside, there was still enough remaining of the little boy who had been certain that the Enemy would be in big trouble when Aunt Galadriel found out what he’d done that hearing she was sulking like Anariel was funny.  
  
The children were slightly more impatient while the ship was being moored – it was clear Anariel would have happily either walked a mooring line or just jumped from ship to quay. That her brothers were at pains to dissuade told Elrond quite clearly that his littlest girl was still nowhere near ‘fine’, no matter what she might tell him in a few minutes.  
  
When the gangplank was finally in place, the three of them made their way down. They weren’t noticeably slower than normal, but Elrond didn’t think he was imagining the boys hovering closer to Anariel than normal. If anything, it looked like they were poised to catch her at any moment.  
  
Celebrían chucked quietly.  
  
 _They’re all still finding their land legs_ , she told him. _Best pray Anariel doesn’t need help keeping her feet, or none of them will make it through this with their dignity intact._  
  
Elrond had already been moving forward, but that made him quicken his pace. The last thing they needed was his daughter injured from a simple fall – and blaming herself for her brothers’ distress.   
  
But there was one more thing lending urgency to his stride. The look in Anariel’s eyes was one he had not seen in a long time, and had thought never to see again. Certainly not on his own daughter.  
  
He could feel the relief as he wrapped her in his arms, and reached out with his fëa as well.   
  
“Ada, we missed you!”  
  
While he did not doubt that her brothers had missed him also, he suspected that was her speaking primarily for herself. That look had spoken of considerably more than missing.  
  
“And I missed you, my sunshine,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice level and his hold gentle.   
  
He could feel her slipping even before Elrohir called out for him to catch her.  
  
There was no need to catch her when he was already holding her. Even as dead weight, Anariel weighed so little that it was no trouble.  
  
Besides, he couldn't possibly have let go. He knew that look.  
  
It had been the one seen on the faces of thralls released from Angband at the end of the War, reunited with kin they had believed dead. They never found out if it had been Morgoth or Sauron who had discovered how delightfully cruel it was to rob all hope from their captives by convincing them their nearest and dearest had been slain. In the end, it wouldn’t have changed anything.   
  
All that had mattered to those poor wretches had been touching the ‘dead’ they had not expected to see ever again. Several had died immediately after.  
  
He found himself clutching his daughter as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered, listening for the slow, steady beat of her heart.   
  
Celebrían knew he was distressed, but she was unsure what had upset him so. She hadn’t been there when Angband was emptied, she hadn’t seen them. For her, Anariel had just been desperate to see her Ada again. But she touched his cheek gently, doing her best to anchor him to the world of here and now.  
  
“I see now what Celeborn meant,” came a new voice.  
  
“Aunt Melian,” Celebrían said in a rather frosty tone. “This is not a good moment.”  
  
“Yes, I can see that also. I did try to convince the child that once she had seen you from the ship, she should let me take her directly to Lorien,” Melian replied, ignoring entirely the implication that her presence was not necessarily welcome.  
  
“I agree that she needs Lorien,” Elrond began, using every bit of self-discipline learned in Endorë. “However, I think it should be my wife and I who take her there.”  
  
“You cannot travel as quickly,” Melian said flatly. “Besides, that was the ‘compromise’ your daughter offered – once she had seen her parents, she would not argue the point any further.”  
  
“She’s not in a state to tell us otherwise at the moment,” Celebrían pointed out with some asperity.   
  
Any other day, Elrond might have been impressed that his wife was prepared to do battle with a maia. Today it barely registered, as his focus had narrowed almost exclusively to his daughter.  
  
“She’s also not in a state to notice that I am moving her,” Melian replied soothingly. “If I take her now, we will be in Lorien from one heartbeat to the next, with Estë herself looking after her. You and Elrond can follow in the elven way. She may not even wake again before you arrive.”  
  
That was a fresh blow to Elrond’s heart. Anariel had been so worried for him it had woken her. Given the weariness her could sense in her fëa and the obvious fragility of her hröa, she should have slept several days more at the least, rousing only for hunger or thirst.  
  
“No.”  
  
His wife and his great-great grandmother both looked at him blankly.  
  
“My daughter stays with me,” Elrond announced in a rarely used tone that no one in his adult life had ever argued with. “You can take us both to Lorien, or neither.”  
  
He absolutely would not let go of Anariel. No, not would not – could not. Not when the one thought in her head had been to get to him. Whenever she next woke, he would be at her side.  
  
More than that, he would not let go because he needed to be sure she was still there, that she hadn’t slipped away to Mandos. Or beyond…  
  
Melian paused for a moment.  
  
“Very well,” she replied slowly. “But I do not know that I can carry Celebrían as well. Perhaps Tindomiel will oblige.”  
  
Celebrían looked from Melian to Elrond.  
  
 _I will remain with the boys. I think we will stay at your parents for the night, at least. Tomorrow will be time enough to set out, whether we travel under Tindomiel’s power or in a more prosaic way. A bit of normality might be good for them. But it will be easier to decide when I am calmer in my own mind._  
  
He nodded. That would have to do.   
  
“Excellent,” Melian said, sounding relieved. “We go to Lorien.”  
  
He had the impression that she cast a cloak over them, though she wasn’t wearing one.   
  
The world around him dissolved.


	7. Those Left Behind

Celebrían tried not to sigh as her daughter and husband disappeared. It felt like there were a thousand worries screaming in her mind, each trying to be the one that claimed her attention.   
  
She put them all aside for the moment to focus on her sons.  
  
“My boys,” she said warmly, gathering them into a hug.  
  
The way they melted into her told her that they too were exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Anariel hadn’t been the only one putting on a show.  
  
She held them for a long moment, doing her best to wrap them in love and reassurance.  
  
 _We do not have to meet all those people on the other dock_ today, _do we?_ Elladan asked.  
  
She was somewhat surprised. Normally it was Elrohir who would avoid company when upset.   
  
_It is not upset so much as just not ready for people_ , Elrohir told her.   
  
There was a firmness in his voice that told her there was no room for discussion on this one.  
  
“Of course not, my darlings,” she replied. “I will stay here until Mother arrives, but if you ask Tindomiel, she can explain to you how to get to your grandmother’s. She’s waiting there.”  
  
“Grandmother lives in Alqualondë?” Elrohir asked in surprise.  
  
“That is not what we expected,” Elladan murmured.   
  
“My mother visits Alqualondë from time to time,” Celebrían clarified. “But your father’s parents make their home just south of the city.”  
  
The boys traded one of those speaking glances that compressed a whole conversation into a heartbeat or two.  
  
“Very well,” Elladan agreed reluctantly.   
  
“You will find Elwing’s house is much more private than any other place you might stay tonight,” Celebrían assured them. “And as Eärendil has been following your ship the entire voyage, there will be no need for you to explain anything to anyone.”  
  
They did brighten somewhat at that, which was one more thing for the list Celebrían was keeping of reasons Morgoth was going to pay. Their first meeting with their father’s parents should have been as joyful as Tindomiel’s.   
  
“I will be only a few minutes behind you,” Celebrían told her sons.   
  
“No need to rush, Nana,” Elrohir said, with an attempt at a smile that only just missed being a grimace.   
  
“We understand perfectly wanting to see your father.”  
  
Her answering smile was both proud of her sons and aching for them.  
  
“I know.”  
  
The twins set off, and she dearly hoped they would actually ask their baby sister rather than trust that they would somehow find the right house on their own. It wouldn’t take very long for the Lindar of Alqualondë to work out who a pair of dark-haired twins dressed in a style not currently in fashion in any of the Amanyar cities were.  
  
She looked up to find her father waiting patiently. His eyes too bore traces of the harrowing voyage.  
  
“Daughter,” he greeted her, his tone warm despite his obvious tiredness.  
  
This time, she was the one wrapped in a hug, her father’s arms giving her the illusion just for a moment that all was right with the world.  
  
 _She will be all right, won’t she?_  
  
Celebrían didn’t dare say the words aloud.   
  
“I believe only time and rest are needed before Anariel will be her usual self again,” Celeborn reassured her.  
  
“But?” Celebrían demanded, sure there must be more.  
  
“There is no but. Unless you would have me add ‘but I believe I understand now as I did not then why you told Elrond he had yet to truly meet his daughter.’”  
  
Celebrían peered at her father, unsure what he meant.  
  
“It was not long after she had returned from the Battle of Five Armies,” Celeborn reminded her.   
  
It took her a moment to recall what he was talking about – though when she did, she felt sick. Elrond had ‘met’ Anariel soaked from head to toe in orc blood after taking on a band of mountain uruks singlehandedly with nothing more than a small dagger.   
  
What had Celeborn’s ‘full Buffy experience’ looked like?  
  
“I may not have been able to see the fight, Rian,” Celeborn said slowly. “But I certainly heard it – part of it, at least. And from what I could see and hear, Anariel was able to leverage what you and she call ‘the Slayer’ to drive Belegurth back.”  
  
He paused.  
  
“I need more time and reflection before I share much more than that. But I will say I begin to think Thranduil has the right of it – if we speak of one of your daughters and Luthien in the same breath, it should be Anariel, not Arwen.”  
  
Celebrían’s breath caught.  
  
From Thranduil the statement always carried at least a tinge of exasperation. From her father, it was more like a mark of respect. Celeborn had also known his cousin Luthien much better than Thranduil, who had been only a youth when Luthien ran away from Doriath to aid Beren in his quest…  
  
“It is a compliment,” her father assured her. “Now, make yourself scarce if you don’t wish to hear your mother’s comments on your role in the nefarious plot to keep her away from her husband and grandchildren.”  
  
He kissed her forehead and turned her to face the same direction the twins had gone.  
  
She hesitated only a moment.   
  
Her father was well able for her mother’s temper, especially when most of it wouldn’t be directed at him.   
  
And as reassuring as it was to have her father hold her and tell her all would be well, she had three children who probably wouldn’t mind having their mother do the same for them.  
  
She did hope the boys hadn’t gotten lost.


	8. Bodies At Rest

Elrond stumbled slightly when the world snapped back into focus.  
  
If this was how Tindomiel traveled, he would not be taking her up on offers to get him places faster anytime soon. He would sooner walk than use the Key if it meant this sort of sickening lurch as if reality had just been suspended and then resumed.  
  
“As to what it is like when Tindomiel moves, you would need to ask her,” Melian said distractedly. “It has never seemed to bother Maeglin or Anairon.”  
  
Elrond had already been warned in the past that in tense or stressful moments, his maia foremother did not always remember to distinguish between thought meant to be shared, thought not meant to be shared, and spoken words.  
  
“We have a bed already prepared for her, young Elrond,” came a soothing voice. “Her arrival is not unlooked for.”  
  
Estë.   
  
He has been her student on several occasions, and still had much to learn. But for now…  
  
“For now, rest is the best healer she could have,” Estë assured him. “Do not trouble yourself that it is anything more than deep sleep. She will wake in her own good time.”  
  
It still felt terrible to actually put his daughter down.  
  
“You need not go far,” Estë offered. “In fact, it will probably help if you do not. Singing might help as well.”  
  
Elrond brushed a hand over Anariel’s hair, and did his best.  
  
The song that came to him was one he could only hope she would remember. In her worst moments, she tended to revert to the tongue of California. But she’d heard this before California. It was one of the first songs he’d ever sung to her – one remembered from his own childhood.  
  
He’d never been quite sure if it was the tune, the words, the surety that they were hallowed by time and many little ears having heard them before his and Elros’, or if it had been Makalaurë’s voice that did the trick. It was only when they’d arrived in Tirion that he’d discovered the song that banished all monsters (well, nearly all – some had only respected Maedhros’ presence) and let elflings sleep safe was one that Nerdanel had sung to all her sons. She’d heard it as a child from her mother.   
  
It did seem to help. Or maybe it was just helping him. It was hard to say.   
  
Melian waited until he had sung himself out before she spoke.  
  
“What do you know of this power Anariel calls _the Slayer_?” she asked.  
  
It was a little unnerving to have her full attention focused so completely on him.  
  
It was more unnerving to have to admit how little he knew.  
  
“Not much, I am afraid, Grandmother,” he replied. “She has never been overly forthcoming about California, and after her mortal sisters and brothers passed beyond the circles of the world, she rarely spoke of it. I learned more from Celebrían and Tindomiel than I did from Anariel.”  
  
“Show me.”  
  
Melian did not pretend it was anything but a command.  
  
He reluctantly opened his mind to let her see what he knew of the Slayer. First and foremost, that he did not understand whence the power came. Next, his certainty that despite the obvious healing benefits and heightened reflexes it bestowed, any gifts it gave had not been worth the price of his daughter’s stunted growth – much less the risk to her life. And he was not sure what else it might have suppressed or robbed her of altogether.  
Melian looked troubled.  
  
“This we must think on,” she murmured. “We knew she was no longer within the circles of the world – that we knew before you did. But this _Slayer_ speaks to us of a world every bit as marred as Arda.”  
  
Elrond was startled. None of his relatives have ever spoken to him of Celebrían’s disappearance with the baby. At least, not to do more than allude to the rejoicing at their return.   
  
“We knew at once that they had not come to the Halls,” Estë explained softly when Melian did not elaborate. “We had no way to tell you, not that we would have wished to rob you of what hope you still had. Your parents were distraught, for Eärendil saw it happen.”  
  
“And when they returned?” Elrond demanded hoarsely, shaken by the implication that their extended family had known and mourned so profound a loss yet never said a word of it to them.  
  
“We rejoiced with the rest of your kin, of course. Though we were also puzzled by how one daughter had become two. I cannot say that we are less puzzled now that we have seen them both.”  
  
“How so?” Elrond asked, intrigued.   
  
He had heard the California explanation, but he was itching to know what the ainur made of it.  
  
“It is the oddest blend of extremely sophisticated, beyond what even Yavanna, Varda, and I working together might have achieved, and exceedingly crude,” Estë said slowly, as if she were having trouble limiting herself to words.  
  
“Crude?”  
  
It was not often that such a question was answered, but today was full of surprises.  
  
“Yes, to our eyes it appears almost as if parts of your older daughter had been ripped from her wholesale to create the younger,” Melian explained. “Much as though someone had hacked at her with a knife, fëa and hroä. Yet for all that, Anariel is unharmed and Tindomiel her own person, with talents and appearance that were never Anariel’s. It is all the more puzzling for being so very at odds with the feeling of this _Slayer_.”  
  
“I am told it was done by a different group. They wished a Slayer to protect the power of the Key.”  
  
“Then why did they not give that power directly to her?” Estë asked in bemusement, speaking as much to Melian as to Elrond. “It would surely make more sense than giving the power to a more vulnerable Incarnate. If it were possible to create an entirely new Incarnate, it should have been much easier to bond this _Key_ to this existing power.”  
  
Elrond had long since come to his own conclusion about that.  
  
“I believe they wished the Key protected only for a short time. After the immediate threat passed, I suspect they intended to retrieve it. They had no wish for it to be merged with the Slayer.”  
  
That answer was plainly not one Estë or Melian cared for.  
  
“Then let us be glad my granddaughters were able to return to their rightful home before that happened,” Melian sniffed. “Though that still does not answer any of our questions about the Slayer itself.”  
  
Elrond decided that as long as they were in a sharing mood, he would chance another question.  
  
“What does the Slayer look like to you?” he asked.  
  
Estë frowned.   
  
“Familiar,” she said slowly. “As though it were of us.”  
  
“And yet not,” Melian added quickly. “More like one of you.”  
  
He wasn’t entirely sure if by ‘you’, they meant ‘half-elven’, ‘elven’, or 'Incarnates'.   
  
Either way, it was an interesting thought – and one to keep in mind for when Anariel was awake.  
  
“You should sleep too, young one,” Melian said, sounding much more like a grandmother than one of the ainur. “We will think on these things, and watch over both of you.”  
  
“I am not tired,” Elrond began reasonably.  
  
“We did not ask!” Estë laughed. “You will rest all the same.”  
  
Coming from a Vala, he had little choice. His eyes were already closing.  
  
It was just possible his daughters were rubbing off on him, as his last thought before sleep claimed him had a distinctly California flavor to it.  
  
 _That’s cheating_.


End file.
